To a Place Unknown
by Arabella Thorne
Summary: Frodo finds that he can only find peace in the West when he follows the true calling of his heart" Thank you Shirebound for the much better summary!


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I don't usually write Frodo angst, but I got to thinking about life in the Blessed Realm for Frodo, and I decided it was more melancholy than anything. And listening to the ROTK soundtrack, especially the sad, noble bits really put me in the mood.

I hope you like this........

Frodo Baggins sighed deeply and watched a skirt of rain brush across the nearby hills. He leaned his elbows on the windowsill and clasped his hands before him.

He was weary. Weary unto death.

He blanched inwardly at his thoughts. How could he want death after being granted such a gift? Living in the fabled land of the West? Seeing all the great elven heroes…and the Valar.

And being with Bilbo, until his spirit, spent, left for a place unknown. Frodo wanted to join his uncle. But how long until that happened?

The wretched Ring had twisted both their lives so out of what anything "normal" should have been for a hobbit.

Frodo bowed his head and saw his face reflected back from a flowerpot filled with the passing rain. His hair was still a riot of curls, though they were faded now. And his face, well it was looking thin. Not really wrinkled, but refined.

Age, and time, moved very, very imperceptibly here in the Blessed Realm. Even now, he could not remember how "long" ago it was that Bilbo had passed on. Frodo eyed the little hillock just visible under the shade of a magnificent old oak whose branches almost reached the ground. Frodo could see the _niphredil _blooming, even in the lowered light of the cloudy sky.

No one kept track of "time" here. Events occurred and were celebrated, but how "long" it had been since the previous event, Frodo was never quite sure.

Turning from the window, the hobbit went through his study and into his kitchen to search the larder for something for afternoon tea. He paused a moment to brush the smooth golden wood of the doorway. He had been so very grateful when Lord Elrond had showed him and Bilbo this pleasant cottage tucked in the hills some distance from Valinor. It was hobbit sized, and though the furniture was much more elegant than the familiar chairs and sofas of Bag End, it was still comfortable. He could not have enjoyed living in one of the gorgeous, otherworldly homes of stone the elves chose to live in in Valinor. They were grander than any hall he had been in, even in Minas Tirith. Of course, not all elves lived in buildings, some chose to live in trees, like the Lady Galadriel and the Lord Celeborn, and those of their kin.

Frodo smiled as he looked at a half-eaten loaf of bread peeking out from under a linen napkin. The elves were unfailingly kind. They always made sure he had lots of fresh fruit, bread, sweets. Even mushrooms. An elf maiden came by every other day with eggs and milk and once a week, a tall quiet elf named Hamiel, would come by with some kind of dressed meat. Since coming here, he found his appetite, though still strong had tapered off into simpler, smaller meals.

And Gandalf, bless him, every now and again would bring him a small barrel of pipe weed. And the two would share a smoke, and mostly silence, out on the bench beneath the rose arbor.

After their arrival, Frodo and Bilbo found themselves and feted and hailed wherever they went. It had been glorious, but a bit exhausting and overwhelming. After a time, the accolades were not so frequent and he and his uncle settled gratefully into a quiet, familiar schedule of hobbit domesticity. Now, other than the occasional visit from the wizard or Lord Elrond, Frodo was left much on his own.

As he preferred. There were no other hobbits here. And, after all this time, elves, though merry and beautiful and kind, were, well, still not hobbits. And still a bit intimidating. The Valar he had met, even more so, though they too were kind and fair.

Frodo smiled at the fine teapot Lord Elrond's wife Celebrian had given him. It was made from translucent green porcelain and covered with deep green ivy leaves, which formed the handle and the spout. He smelled the wonderful tea brewing in it, a gift from the elf lord. He set the pot on the table near the fire and then went and got the bread and some cheese, and a few grapes, setting them about the teapot. Going back into his kitchen for a mug, he decided a few mushrooms wouldn't go amiss, especially as they were a variety he had never had at home, with a very delicate flavor.

He had been thinking a lot about home recently, particularly because the weather had been on and off rain. Refreshing, but it still made his shoulder ache a bit. Even here.

Rubbing it, he sat before his tidy meal and began to cut a slice of cheese.

He remembered fondly gentle Este the Vala of Healing upon his first visit with her in the gardens of Lorien. A place Sam would certainly love. The flowering beds and arbors would have made Sam bust his buttons!

The Vala had merely talked to him, though she briefly inspected the scar from the Morgul blade. She lay a warm hand on it, and the pain had dulled down to almost nothing. But it had not gone away completely. And though Frodo had never mentioned this to any one, including Elrond, he was glad the pain had not gone away. It reminded him of what he had done to reach such a place.

And it reminded him of who he was and where he was from.

Especially now, with Bilbo gone.

Frodo put down the bread and cheese he was about to eat and stood up with that thought.

He opened the door, walked out into the fine drizzle and went to Bilbo's grave. He enjoyed the feeling of the wet grass on his feet. Once under the shadow of the tree, Frodo stopped and stared at the small mound and its wreath of _niphredil_, and the geraniums, which Bilbo had brought with him from Bag end via Rivendell to here. Frodo bent to smell the flowers and smiled. They made him remember being given bunny-watching duty when he had sneaked a birthday cake from the larder and shared it with Pippin. He had only been caught, because he had gotten unexpectedly and violently ill all over the parlor rug. And it had been obvious at that point what he had eaten! 

Frodo shook his head. Uncle Bilbo had been angry, as the cake had been a surprise for Heather Bracegirdle's momma. So, for punishment, he had been told for the next few nights, he would sit in the vegetable patch, and keep off the rabbits. The smell of the homely geraniums from the nearby window box filled the air where he had crouched, feeling sorry for himself.

Sighing, Frodo sat down, heedless of the damp grass. He put a hand on the grave and said aloud, "Oh Bilbo! Where have you gone? Can I join you? I so miss our talks and your tales. The Blessed Realm is all very well for the ageless elves. But for us hobbits who are not immortal, well, we need something a bit more earthy, and plain."

Frodo bowed his head, and for the first time in a very long time, he cried. He lay his head down on the wet mound and curled up. Sleep came swiftly.

"_Bilbo!" The younger hobbit cried out joyfully. "Bilbo, I've missed you so!" The elder hobbit, in the prime of life, sat before Frodo on the bench beneath the old oak. There was now no little hillock there and wild flowers of several sorts grew in the grass._

"Come, my lad, why so downhearted?"

Frodo sat up and wiped his face. "I am so lonely here in the West Bilbo. There are no hobbits to talk to. I am all alone in a sea of Fair Folk and Valar. It is pleasant and peaceful, but…."

"Not very hobbit-like. I know lad, I know. The elves meant well. They felt this, their most sacred and sought after place would be home to us as it is to them. They have such a longing for Aman. A longing you and I do not have." The elder hobbit glanced out at the landscape. It IS so very beautiful. Indeed it is." He turned to look at his nephew. "But in the end, it is not our place."

"No, it's not." Frodo stood up and sat next to his uncle, who put his arm around him. "I want to go where you are, Bilbo. You and Sam are all I have ever needed to keep my feet firmly on the earth. Though kind and fruitful, the soil here is, so, well..... elvish. Very much like Rivendell."

Bilbo nodded in agreement.

Frodo leaned his head on his uncle's shoulder. "Oh Bilbo, I want to go home. Have a simple pint of ale, and a long smoke before the door of the Green Dragon."

"But did you not come here Frodo because life in Hobbiton did not suit you?"

"Yes. Yes it is true. Or it was true then. I tired of my own voice reciting, "There I was with Sting in my hand…." I tired of the mayor dragging me forward on any civic occasion. I tired of the looks I was given by many of the younger hobbits, who had no idea what I had been through. Sam at least had Rosie and his growing family….I had nothing but pain."

He looked up at Bilbo and wiped his eyes. "I thought I would find peace and quiet here. And I did Bilbo, I did." Tears welled up in Frodo's eyes again. "But it is now the peace of emptiness, not peaceful solitude. And solitude does not answer back in the dark." The younger hobbit hung his head. "Oh Bilbo, my, my spirit is withering away here. I am surrounded by beauty and it grates on the skin like wind-whipped sand."

He was silent a while and then he looked up again. "Bilbo, take me with you. Let me join you. I am fading here. Please?"

Bilbo was silent a long time. He hugged his nephew tighter. Frodo felt his uncle's warmth through the soft velvet of his favorite maroon weskit. 

Sighing contentedly, Frodo closed his eyes, smiling. He could almost hear the sweet sound of their neighbor's flute as Tom Thistlefoote practiced in the twilight. And it pierced his heart with a great blossoming of happiness. He nestled down closer to Bilbo's heart. A nightingale sang above the sweet notes of the flute. 

His sleep was deep and restful.

And final.

Frodo opened his eyes and stretched comfortably. The bed linens smelled slightly of lavender. The sun was warm on his face. The window of his room let in the fresh morning air, stirring the white lace curtains lazily. He could hear chickens clucking in the garden below. And somewhere, further off, some one was whistling and a dog barked. The smell of cooking bacon and eggs tickled his nose.

He threw off the quilt and hopped out of bed.

"Frodo, my lad! Come, your breakfast is waiting!" Bilbo came down the hallway and entered the bedroom. "If you don't come right this minute, I shall give your breakfast to the pigs."

Frodo, grinning, grabbed his uncle in a big hug and closed his eyes tight. His love enveloped him like a soft blanket.

This! This was........ _home_.

Pulling back, he smiled at his uncle. "I shall be dressed in a moment. Do not give that good breakfast to the pigs!"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~the end~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


End file.
